


The Adventure Of The Paradol Chamber (1887)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [49]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Framing Story, Johnlock - Freeform, London, M/M, Murder, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes, cold cases
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-24 06:19:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10735890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: A man is shown to be guilty of two murders, and John experiences conflicting emotions when Sherlock decides to do absolutely nothing about it.





	The Adventure Of The Paradol Chamber (1887)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lyster99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyster99/gifts).



We arrived back from Cumberland – yes, I did get to sample first-class sleeper travel again, and yes, it was wonderful - to a capital in full swing for Christmas, with all that that entailed. Criminals, I had noted, seemed to be imbued with at least some small part of festive cheer themselves; I noted that my friend's workload lessened during these winter days. But this particular season we did not make it to the end of Christmastide, our next case arriving some two days into a New Year which, God willing, would mark fifty years of Queen Victoria on the throne of the British Empire.

As I have said before, few cases that hit the papers during my friend's long absence drew my interest, as I generally found them painful reminders of what I had had taken from me. We had of course recently had cause to revisit one (the Brackhampton case), and another that had briefly held my attention during those dark years had been the Easington House Murder, in late 'Eighty-Four. Lady Alicia Easington, sole daughter of her father the Imperial Office minister Sir Beresford, had recently married a young bank clerk called Mr. Hilary Bane, and they had moved into Hill House, one of her father's many properties, whilst they sought a place of their own. I remember that Sir Beresford had been in the process of trying to sell the place, his wife having died there the year before, along with several other of his properties so that he might retire to The Lakes. The sale had been delayed due to the sadly all too predictable local council incompetence, as they could not decide whether they wished to purchase the house as building land or not, and would not allow a sale whilst they tried to first find and then make up their minds.

It is important that I mention two other matters appurtenant to this case. Firstly, Sir Beresford had recently purchased a five-year commission for his only other child, his son Oughtred, who was travelling to India to serve with the British Army as a doctor. And secondly, unusually in this day and age, his son and daughter were equal co-heirs to his estate, making Lady Alicia a fine catch for her new husband.

Four just days after Doctor Oughtred Easington had left for his new post, tragedy had struck when two masked robbers had broken into the house and had been surprised by Lady Alicia. She had been struck on the head, and had died not long after. Efforts to reach her brother had proved fruitless - unhappily he had made an unscheduled change in his route due to a storm at sea - and Sir Beresford had been forced to send his son a telegram advising him not to return, as the funeral had had to be held long before the victim's brother could have reached England. The widower Mr. Bane moved out of the house as soon as possible, and it had had several tenants since, none of them staying for any length of time. In the odd way that some properties can, it just seemed to have become an unlucky house.

Despite a substantial reward that had been offered by Sir Beresford, the robbers had not been caught. I remember thinking at the time how I wished that Sherlock had been there to effect his own brand of justice, and clear everything up as he always did. I little dreamt at the time that that was exactly what I would see just three years later, and in such a way as he did.

+~+~+

“I had a visit from a member of the nobility this morning”, Sherlock said casually as I unwrapped my scarf at the door. It had been snowing heavily all day, and despite my many layers I was frozen to the marrow. “Sir Beresford Easington.”

I frowned for a moment as I tried to recall the name, but then I remembered. Father to the murdered Lady Alicia. 

“The poor man”, I said. “At least his son is back in the country now; he is taking patients as a locum not far from my surgery.”

Sherlock looked at me in apparent surprise before seeming to realize something.

“Of course, you missed the paper-boy with your early start today”, he said (I had had to rush off when a client's baby had selfishly decided the small hours of the morning were an excellent time to make his arrival; I had only just made it for one of the quickest births that I had ever managed). “You had better get out of all those wet clothes, and I shall stoke up the fire and pour you a brandy.”

“Thank you, Mother!” I teased. He looked at me warningly.

+~+~+

I finally finished reading the article, and looked across at my friend. 

“Sir Beresford wants your help with this?” I asked curiously. “It does not really seem.... in your line of business.”

“A mysterious and unexplained death?” Sherlock said inquiringly. “It seems exactly in my line of business. But the article does leave out certain salient facts, which put things in a rather different light. I shall tell you of the whole, and then you can tell me what you think.”

I nodded, sipped my drink and sat back. The wind was blowing up a storm outside, but with a warm fire and my best friend sat across from me, 221B was a wonderful place to be right now.

“After he sold Hill House and some of his other possessions”, Sherlock began, “Sir Beresford purchased three new properties. For himself a country estate in Westmorland; for his absent son a house in Bayswater, suitable to be adapted to host a doctor's practice if he so wished, and for his son-in-law, a house in St. John's Wood, which went by the name of “Sedbergh House”. As I suspect you may have read, Lady Alicia had made a will directly after her marriage, apparently without the knowledge of any of her family, including her husband. Her moneys reverted to her father during his lifetime, but he could only touch the interest, although he could use the capital to purchase items for Mr. Bane, hence the new house. Upon her father's death, the capital passed whole to her husband.”

“Surely such a will was open to challenge?” I asked.

“Mr. Bane could probably could have precisely that, but he declined so to do”, Sherlock said. “He seems to have been well rewarded for his restraint, all things considered. To continue. Doctor Oughtred Easington was due to serve for five years in British India, but decided to come home after only three. I do not know why; perhaps he found it too hard out there, as it can break many a man. He returned home two weeks ago, and the dramatic events of last night are what his father came to Baker Street to discuss earlier today.”

“Last night, Doctor Easington was invited round to his brother-in-law's house for dinner. Sedbergh House was formerly “Eastern Promise” – I know! - and had belonged to a Portuguese merchant who had made a fortune in the spice trade before returning to his native land. It was known locally as the House of Spices - which I think is only marginally less atrocious - partly because the exterior had a number of Eastern architectural features. Each room bears the name of a herb or spice.”

“Ah!” I said. “That is why the dramatically headlined article referred to a 'Paradol Chamber', then?”

 _(I should explain that, at the time of this case, the word 'paradol' was in fairly common usage, but by the time that I first published this tale (1921), it had largely fallen from favour. It is the principal ingredient in the Guinea pepper, and also present in ginger. Back in those far-off days, one could buy small bottles of it as a general spice, although I have not seen any for some years now.)_

“Indeed”, Sherlock said. “Dinner proceeded as normal, with just the two men and the servants present. The men adjourned to the smoking-room upstairs – the Cinnamon Chamber - for drinks, and the doctor excused himself to visit the water closet, or as it was in this case, the Ginger Chamber. How that merchant made a fortune whilst showing such execrable taste in his home life is something that I find frankly incomprehensible!”

I smiled at his annoyance.

“The doctor returned to find his host lying on the floor, having clearly been strangled. Mr. Bane lay directly in front of a small store-cupboard labelled 'the Paradol Chamber', the door to which was slightly ajar. I should mention that the French doors were open upon the doctor's return, whereas they had not been earlier. The door into the smoking-room was also slightly ajar when he re-entered the room; he was sure that he had shut it when he had left, to keep the warmth in.”

“I am surprised that they did not immediately suspect the doctor”, I observed. Sherlock shook his head.

“He had entered the room just as a maid was passing down the corridor; she heard him call out and came in after him. She says that he left the door open when he went in, and there was a delay of but a few seconds before she got there. He would barely have had tome to reach the body, let alone actually do anything.”

“Did they search this 'Paradol Chamber'?” I asked.

“They did”, Sherlock said. “The maid said that the store-cupboard was usually locked, and that the master and housekeeper both had keys, although the housekeeper was then dining with most of the rest of the staff downstairs. A later search revealed only one unusual item in the store-cupboard, namely a skull. Not a real one, I might add, but the sort purchased from theatrical shops.”

“Strangled”, I said thoughtfully. “Probably by someone who escaped via the French doors, then.”

“It looked that way”, Sherlock suggested. “The maid – a different one - who took the food in and out at dinner said that both men seemed perfectly relaxed, and the butler reported that they were talking amiably enough as he brought in their coffees to the smoking-room. And Doctor Easington seemingly had no motive to kill his brother-in-law.”

“No-one heard anything?” I asked.

“The smoking-room is at the side of the house, for privacy”, Sherlock said. “Sir Beresford has arranged that, if you are willing, you can sit in on the _post mortem_. I know that police doctors are good, but I would prefer to have someone whose judgement is unimpeachable in this matter. Certainly someone more professional than this God-forsaken newspaper writer, who deserves to spend some time in Purgatory himself for choosing 'Hell House 2' as his title!”

“Of course”, I smiled.

+~+~+

“Well?” Sherlock asked as I pulled my gloves on.

I had just finished helping to examine the body of the late Mr. Hilary Bane, Esquire, and had found – well, something very odd.

“Was he strangled?” my friend asked. I looked at him oddly.

“Undoubtedly”, I said. “Except that was not what killed him.”

“Watson!”

I suppressed a smile. He was rather endearing when he was annoyed.

“He was stabbed in the heart”, I said. “With an exceedingly fine instrument, quite possibly a stiletto knife. Not only that, it was almost certainly done by a professional.”

“How do you know that?” he challenged.

“Because the entry wound is in the one spot that would kill him as quickly as possible”, I said. “I might conjecture that he was strangled afterwards, in an attempt to hide it, although from the state of the body, the two attacks must have occurred at around the same time.”

“That does not make sense”, my friend said, frowning. “If we assume an outside attacker, they must know that the doctor would only be away for a few minutes at most, assuming that they had been listening in. The water closet is directly across the hall from the smoking-room, so why waste precious time in attempting to hide the crime in that way?”

I thought for a moment.

“I do not like to cast aspersions”, I said slowly, “but is it possible that the 'bad people' his brother has reputedly fallen in with contain some Italian criminals? People who are expert in this sort of weapon?”

He seemed to be thinking about my words, and did not immediately answer.

“One more thing”, I said. “He also used some strange shaving cream. Even this far on in time, I could still smell it on his face and neck, so he must have used it copiously. Something herbal, by the odour.”

My friend's eyes lit up. I really wished that I had known why.

+~+~+

Doctor Oughtred Easington was a large man of about forty years of age, jovial and welcoming; I could see why he would make a good addition to our profession. Sherlock asked him if he had also been the victim's doctor.

“No”, he said, “but I did make up some shaving cream for him. Hilary had a very severe reaction when he tackled some ivy around his window last week, and normal shaving cream made his rash even worse. I gave him a herbal preparation, which did not have any side-effects. Is there a problem?”

“Your father merely wishes us to clarify exactly how his son-in-law died”, Sherlock said politely. “Do you happen to have any of that preparation here?”

“Sadly no”, he said. “It is quite potent – not dangerous, just strong-smelling - so I make it up but rarely, and would only let Hilary have one jar at a time. He quite liked the smell, oddly enough, which I could not stand! But I only gave him the first jar last week, so he should still have most of it.”

Is it dangerous?" I asked. He smiled.

One might have a severe stomach-ache if the whole jar was taken internally", he admitted, "but I am sure that it tasted as bad as it smelt. No-one could have eaten the vile stuff."

“We shall check all that out”, Sherlock said. He paused before continuing. “Mr. Bane did not seem troubled at all at your dinner?”

The doctor hesitated.

“He was concerned about his brother Simon”, he admitted almost reluctantly. “A very nasty piece of work by all accounts, though as a doctor I should not say such things. One of those puffed-up fellows who thinks that he is better than he actually is. I know that his own wife left him after he beat her, and her father and brothers felt the urge to come round and give him a bloody good thrashing. I am glad they yielded to said urge.”

“He sounds a most unpleasant man”, Sherlock agreed.

“Simon had wanted to move into the house with him, and Hilary refused”, the doctor said. “It would easily have been big enough for the both of them, of course, but I would presume that my brother-in-law had his brother's measure and foresaw – correctly, I would say – that things would go downhill from there. Families are difficult things. I suppose that Simon will inherit the house anyway, now.”

“I do hope that he was not counting on that”, Sherlock said. “The house falls under the will of the late Lady Alicia, and she included what I believe is termed a 'sunset clause', which meant that should her husband not outlive her by at least five years, then all the capital which was bequeathed to him should revert back to her family.”

“Then he may be in for a disappointment”, the doctor smiled. “From what I know of him, it could hardly happen to a less nice person!”

+~+~+

The following day, Sherlock received a visit from Sir Beresford. The nobleman looked at me suspiciously.

“You are not writing up this case, are you, doctor?” he rumbled.

“Every case I write is done so only with the approval of both my friend and those involved in the case”, I said. “That includes relatives and friends of both criminals and victims.”

To my surprise, he chuckled.

“I just read your writings of the mysterious Charles Augustus Milverton”, he smiled, looking at Sherlock before turning back to me. “It was odd to see you playing the detective for once!”

I smiled too.

“The case progresses”, Sherlock said, “but we are some way from a conclusion as yet. Thank you for coming here today. I wished to ask you a question, my lord.”

“Of course.”

“Were there any developments, any happenings at all relating to the unfortunate killing of your daughter, that occurred in the past few weeks?”

“Mr. Holmes....”

“I would not ask”, Sherlock pressed, “but I have a sense for when I am missing a key piece of information. And right now, that is what I feel.”

The nobleman slowly nodded.

“All right”, he said. “Funny you should ask that, because two things happened recently, apart from my son's return. One fairly minor, which I did not think worth mentioning, and the other right this morning. The first was that Mary Elliston died.”

“Who was she, pray?” Sherlock asked.

“The housekeeper at the time of the attack”, Sir Beresford said. “As you may have read, she and the maid encountered the two killers, and one of them struck out at them both before fleeing. Unfortunately they were both wearing masks, so when she eventually came round she could tell us little or nothing. She retired to The Lakes just under a year ago to live with her sister, in a cottage on my new Westmorland estate. Her sister wrote and told me; natural causes, she said. She was getting on quite a bit.”

“I see”, Sherlock said. “And the second event?”

The nobleman hesitated.

“The Metropolitan Police contacted me this morning”, he said. “Simon Bane, Hilary's brother, has been found dead in his room in Soho. He had committed suicide, the night after his brother's death. He left a note, admitting that he had killed his brother over an argument, and that he did not wish to carry on. He said that he had waited for the doctor to leave the room, then came through the French doors and stabbed him.”

“Another death”, I muttered.

“I see”, Sherlock said. He pressed his long fingers together and thought for some time before speaking again. “Sir Beresford, Doctor Watson and I will need to make a journey of some distance to bring this matter to a conclusion. We will be gone for some two days; I think that it is unlikely to be any more than than. If you would care to come round this Sunday, I fully expect to be able to explain matters to you.”

“All?” the nobleman asked. “Even my daughter's murder?”

“That will be tricky”, Sherlock admitted. “But I may be able to offer you some news about your daughter's killers, even if bringing them to justice is... problematic.”

The nobleman stared at him in confusion, but then nodded and bade us goodbye. I looked at my friend.

“Your surgery would be able to function without you for two days?” he asked.

“They would”, I said. “Where are we going?”

“The Lakes!” he grinned.

+~+~+

We managed to catch an afternoon train out of Euston that, fortuitously, stopped at Oxenholme on its way to Glasgow. Sherlock had had time to wire ahead, and after a short journey on an antiquated branch-line train that took us to the town of Bowness, we were met by a trap which took us to the Lady Jane Gray Hotel. Sherlock told me he hoped to have everything sorted quickly so that we could take a train back around mid-day tomorrow, and be back in London for the weekend.

“Sir Beresford's estate is not far from here”, he said, “but I did not wish to trouble him. The hotel is technically closed for winter, but apparently fame and fortune can open many doors.”

“You deserve it”, I said. He looked askance at me.

“I meant your name, Watson”, he said. “A famous novelist staying at a hotel in the middle of nowhere, out of season? I do not doubt all the staff will be wanting you to sign their magazines and books!”

I scowled at him. It was true that the public reaction to the case of Charles Augustus Milverton had been very positive, but I was not famous and never would be. The very idea!

“I am just looking forward to a resolution of this case”, I said. “Preferably before it involves any more dead bodies!”

He smiled his 'eyes-crinkling-at-the-edges' smile, the one I knew to be real, not the one he kept for clients.

“Tomorrow, my friend”, he promised.

+~+~+

The following day a hired trap took us just across the border into Cumberland, to a small but well-kept cottage. Sherlock led me up to the cottage door, and knocked politely. It was opened by an elderly lady dressed in black, who stared suspiciously at us.

“It is all right, Annie”, came a voice from the cottage's one and probably only large room. “I am expecting these gentlemen.”

'Annie' gave us a warning look which said quite clearly 'Gentlemen?', but nodded curtly to us, bade us enter, and left in silence. Sherlock walked over to the fireplace, and ran his hand against a framed photograph of two ladies.

“Sir Beresford had that done for us on Mary's retirement.”

The lady who spoke was also elderly, but much thinner and attired in mourning clothes. She was sat by the fire, which gave precious little warmth in the cold winter air. Her visitor had at least prepared a warm pot of tea and some cake, which she kindly offered to us. I took a chair at the table, whilst Sherlock sat opposite her. 

“Miss Margaret Elliston”, he said politely.

“Mary loved your writings, doctor”, she said. “Despite all the dark things, she said that the light of human goodness shone through both of you. When I had the telegram telling me of your coming, I was alarmed, yes, but I think that I can trust you both.”

Sherlock leaned forward.

“I shall endeavour to make it easier for you by telling the tale myself”, he said. “I know most of it now, and if I go wrong, I am sure that you will correct me.”

She nodded her agreement, and he began.

“When your sister retired”, Sherlock began, “she omitted to tell her employer of her real reason for leaving. I do not know how, but something happened to make her realize exactly who at least one of Lady Alicia's two killers were, and by implication, who the other might likely be.”

She nodded again.

“He used a powerful scented soap”, she said. “Lavender and rhododendron; Mary always had a nose for scents. When he struck her at the house, she smelt it, but of course it was only when she chanced to meet him over two years later that she realized and remembered. She panicked and quit her post, poor lamb. I did try to get her to approach the authorities, but she was terrified in case they came after her, too. All the worry hastened her end, I am sure.”

“Scent can be a powerful way of triggering memory”, I agreed. “But who were the killers, then?”

“Hilary and Simon Bane”, Sherlock said calmly.

“What?” I almost shouted. “Lady Alicia's own husband?”

“Remember that Mr. Hilary Bane did not know about his wife's will”, Sherlock said. “That must have been a terrible moment for him, finding out that he had killed for possibly nothing. But he still got a house out of it, and the only possible danger after that was his wayward brother. Or so he thought.”

He turned back to Miss Elliston.

“Your sister may have fled her job”, he said, “but she was a lady of stout moral character. She managed to get a message to Doctor Easington in India. I doubt that she actually told him much, but it was enough to have him buy out the last two years of his commission, and return home at once. He came here, and she told him all.”

She sighed, and nodded.

“Two evil men thought they had got away with murder”, Sherlock went on, “but now an avenging angel was on their trail. Doctor Easington had certain advantages in what he sought to do, most notably of course that both his victims were totally unaware of the danger now threatening them. He first dosed a shaving cream that introduced certain drugs into Mr. Hilary Bane's body. These had the effect of making the victim slow and sluggish after a heavy meal, which when you intend to stab someone is a definite advantage.”

“Some time during the evening, the doctor finds an excuse to move close to his victim. He has in his pocket a surgical knife – sharper even than a stiletto, doctor – and he knows exactly where to stab his victim to cause almost instant death. I strongly suspect that, in those final moments of lucidity, the doctor told him the reasons for his action, and that Nemesis was finally catching up with him.”

I shuddered at the thought of the dying man, no matter how much he had deserved his fate.

“He now sets the scene”, Sherlock continued. “The body is dragged over to the Paradol Chamber, which he has obtained the key to, and the skull placed inside. If the police take it as a clumsy attempt to implicate the doctor, then all well and good. The French doors are opened, to imply an outside killer; I dare say that had the police done their job more thoroughly, they would have located an obliging set of footprints leading to and from the house. The doctor then strangles a dead man, hoping that any _post mortem_ would not notice; I am sure that he uses surgical gloves throughout, which he probably burns in the fire before leaving. Since drinks have been served, he knows that no servants will enter the smoking-room unless summoned. Therefore he can go to the water-closet in safety.”

“He leaves the door ajar, and waits in the closet for a servant to pass. When he sees one coming, he re-emerges, enters the room, and cries out at the sight of the body of the man he has just killed. Of course the obliging witness comes running, and he has a near-perfect alibi. I am sure that he also remembers to swap the vial of drugged shaving-cream for a regular one, in case anyone checks that. The police come, make their inquiries, and decide that Mr. Hilary Bane was most likely murdered by an outside killer, motive unknown.”

Sherlock hesitated.

“The doctor does one more thing before leaving the scene of his first crime”, he said slowly. “He takes Mr. Hilary Bane's revolver with him.”

I shuddered again. I could see where this was leading.

“He goes to Mr. Simon Bane's house, and is admitted. The blackguard has no reason to be wary of his brother's brother-in-law. Not up to the moment that that person shoots him in the head, again most probably telling him why first. Three years late, but the dark deeds done at the first 'Hell House' are finally avenged. The doctor leaves a suicide note and departs, his work done.”

She sighed. There was a long pause.

“I do not doubt”, Sherlock said gravely, “that the doctor discussed his plans with you beforehand, Miss Elliston. Your sister acted as an emissary of justice, employing a man to do the work that she felt needed to be done. I would only ask one question of you, if I may? Did the doctor tell you what he intended to do after all of this?”

She nodded.

“He plans to return to British India”, she said. “And to stay there. But now.....”

Sherlock suddenly stood up. I stared in surprise.

“Thank you very much for your time and patience, Miss Elliston”, he said. “The doctor and I will now return to our hotel to pack, and this afternoon we shall take the train back to London. Sir Beresford is attending us at Baker Street tomorrow, and although it will be painful, he has the right to the truth.”

She looked at us, almost hopefully.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Provided Doctor Easington returns to British India, nothing”, Sherlock said. “I truly doubt that his poor father will want to push matters. I was brought in on this case to pursue justice, and since justice has already been meted out, my work is done. Thank you for the tea and cakes.”

He kissed her hand, and ushered me out.

+~+~+

“You are letting a killer get away?” I asked dubiously. “And a doctor? What happened to 'first do no harm'?”

We were stood on Oxenholme Station, waiting for our London express. He turned to me, looking sad.

“Consider the alternatives, Watson”, he said quietly. “If I advance the case, who actually gains? _Cui bono?_ The publicity would destroy Sir Beresford, and the vultures of the press may even hound poor Miss Margaret Elliston, who is quite innocent. You know full well that twelve good men and true would rightly refuse to convict a man who killed his sister's killers, such is the strength of our jury system, not to mention that your fellow doctor would be ruined by the resultant publicity. A veritable ton of troubles all round, for no gain. Now consider what I am doing, even if it is nothing. British India gets a fine doctor, who will work out his penance and then some, and the innocent are left in peace. Which, would you say, is the better way?”

I pouted. I still felt that allowing a doctor who killed to go free was wrong, but I could not fault his logic. Damn the man!

“I hate it when you are right!” I grumbled.

He smiled brightly.

“I know!”

And I hated it when he did that, too!

+~+~+

Our next adventure would involve a truly Valiant man. And another truly dreadful title suggestion by my 'friend', who would do something that I found hard to forgive.


End file.
